My Hate Sex
by Quaxo
Summary: General Hospital never showed the poor wife at home alone on a Friday night while her husband was off "saving lives".


She sighs as she scrolls through the channels trying to find something she can tolerate – they have two hundred channels and there isn't a damn thing on Friday night. She's tempted to call Petey – except he'd called earlier and said that Perry was having one of his hissy fits and dumped all his patients on him.

She was going to have to make Perry pay for cockblocking her like this. If she sees him – which, judging from Petey's nervous tone probably won't be until Monday night. He'll be out drinking in the bar or feverishly haunting the on-call room trying to find some miracle cure for a patient who was going to die anyway – she could write for _General Hospital_ she's got so many stories that all go like that.

Except they never show the poor wife being stuck at home on a Friday night, no husband and no man on the side to keep her company because the men are off "saving lives".

The front door opens with a loud crack as it smashes into the wall – causing her to drop the remote and flinch back in surprise. Perry is standing in the entryway, looking disheveled – which means another tragic but deserving patient. God she hates soap operas.

"Christ, Perry, we don't own the place yet – wait for a bit before you put a hole in the wall."

He glares at her, but remarkably – she should write it down on the calendar and celebrate it as a holiday – he says absolutely nothing. His face is white and tense – his eyes have that slightly crazed "passionate' look that she hasn't had directed at her in the longest time.

He grunts once, and moves towards her – his movements jerky and slightly spastic.

"What, you're not going to ask how my day is," she finds herself sneering as he looms over her uncomfortably.

"No," He growls out, grabbing her by her wrist and jerking her roughly to her feet.

"Ow! What the hell has gotten into you?"

He growls at her then, his eyes coldly evaluating her with surgical precision. The paranoid thought that he can see the scar from her nose job she got when she was sixteen crosses her mind and the one she had from that really huge zit.

She squawks loudly in surprise and protest when he picks her up and tosses her over his shoulder with less care than you'd give a sack of potatoes.

"Perry! What the hell has gotten into you," She demands, bringing her fists down hard on the small of his back.

Except for the quiet grunt that comes after each hit, he stays eerily silent as he carries her back to the bedroom. She starts to feel a trill of arousal grow in her belly, her womanhood swelling in anticipation. She's always had a bit of a thing for the alpha male routine – something which had drawn her to Perry in the first place, before she'd known about his 'emotional' tendencies. She sniffs the air slightly and is surprised to realize she can't smell any booze –

He hasn't been so aggressive with her in the longest time and she feels a flush grow over her body, her nipples prickling as they brush against his shoulder.

She lets out a theatrical shriek as he tosses her down onto the bed, causing her to bounce roughly.

"What brought this on," she purrs, hands starting to unbutton her blouse slowly, giving him peeks at her flesh.

Perry glares at her coldly, pulls his shirt off quickly, before he begins mechanically undoing the fly of his jeans. Normally he gives her a _little_ bit of a show, and she finds her lips curling into a pout when he brusquely shoves his jeans and boxers down –

All is forgiven when he rips off her skirt and favorite panties.

"See something you like," She drawls, looking up at him through her eyelashes – that kills him every time – drawing her knee up to give him a flash of what he wants.

He looks at her coldly, "No."

Fury bubbles up and she kicks him in the thigh – only for him to grab it and use it to jerk her onto her stomach roughly. Her hip smarts at the abuse and she chokes down a whimper of protest.

"This is kinky. Sure you're not out of your comfort zone, Mr. Vanilla Missionary?"

His hands grip her hips tightly and force her up onto her knees. She feels the bed dip violently as he gets on, and he's pushing her into the center of the bed, and she feels herself leaning into his touch. Her core aches with the thought of the bruises she'll have in the morning. God, why couldn't he be like this _every_ night –

She moans as she feels his hot naked prick thrust inside of her, wincing slightly as she realizes she's not quite as ready as she thought she was. A loud groan rips its way out of her chest as he begins to pound into her, her breath hiccupping as it's pushed out of her lungs.

"You like that," He asks her softly, his voice hoarse – his hand sliding down her back and resting on the back of her neck.

"_Fuck_ yes," she moans. "So good…"

"Petey fuck you this good," He snarls, hand clenching down painfully on her neck, the fingers of his other hand digging into the flesh of her hip (_she needs to get that taken care of_).

Her body feels as if she's been thrust into glacier, stomping any trace of her arousal instantly and probably for the next month. A refrain of '_ohshitohshitohshitohshit_' runs through her panic stricken brain as he continues fuck her roughly.

"Perry, stoppit," She snaps, her fear spiraling higher as she realizes it's only a pale imitation of her normally commanding tone. She sounds like a little girl, not the _**woman**_ that she is –

"You fucked Petey, you goddamn bitch," He hisses from behind her, his voice so remote and sterile and frightening. How had she ever thought he'd been cold to her before this moment? There had been more affection in his voice after she'd done that impression of his noises he made when he was about to come at that party where she'd had a little bit too much –

"Perry, you're _hurting me_," She's appalled to find herself whimpering. It hurts too much, though, to hold onto her pride. His cock chafes and burns inside of her, the hand around her neck clenching and pushing her into the mattress making it so hard to breathe.

"I'm hurting you," He barks, some internal damn breaking inside him because it's overflowing with emotion – she'd give anything for that frigid voice to come back, because she can hear how much he _**hates**_ her. "You don't have a fucking corner on hurt. I fucking loved you, how stupid am I? He was my _friend –_ you were my _**wife –**_"

She can feel his erection softening inside her as his thrusts become more erratic and she lets out a soft sob of relief because it means that soon this is going to be over.

She's deafened when Perry lets out a wounded scream and pulls out of her, shoving her off the bed and onto the floor. She lies there, perfectly still like some trapped rodent as she listens to him gasp and choke on the bed for several long moments.

"Pack your stuff and get the fuck out. I want a divorce," Perry says hoarsely after an eternity, before sitting up and pulling on his pants.

She hears him leave the room, then their brand new condo as each door slams – and all she can think is that he's doing it all wrong, the pansy – if he's going to throw her out he can't be the one who leaves the building. It sends the wrong message.

God, she's a bitch sometimes.


End file.
